Beyond Repair
by StarrySkies
Summary: Some things, you just can't fix no matter how hard you try. MacStella
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Beyond Repair  
**Author:** StarrySkies  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Mac/Stella  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything that CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, Anthony Zuiker, etc. own.  
**Summary:** Some things, you just can't fix - no matter how hard you try.  
**Warning:** references to self-injury.  
**A/N:** This is just a work in progress. I have no clear direction with it yet, but hopefully, it will come to me. Just started with an idea as usual without thinking the story through.

* * *

-

"Whatcha got, Flack?" Stella asked. She surveyed the crime scene – a run-down apartment in a walk-up in Brooklyn. Side tables knocked over, a lamp broken on the floor, couch cushions torn from their proper places. Apparent domestic disturbance. All properly documented by Stella's camera.

He held his black notebook in his hand and flipped it open to the corresponding page. "Approximately 20 year-old Caucasian female. Neighbor called the cops when she walked by and found her on the floor."

"You get a name?"

"Working on it. Called the super, and he's finding the lease agreement for me."

"The neighbors don't know who lived here?"

"I asked, and they said they didn't know her, so she must not have been living here too long. Can't even find a scrap of paper with a name on it around here."

"Anybody see anything?" she asked.

"Neighbors said they heard a scuffle but nobody saw a thing. They conveniently went blind for 20 minutes."

Stella smirked at the comment but didn't take her eyes off of the victim lying on the floor. Her pants were on but Stella noticed right away that they were unbuttoned and unzipped. She snapped a picture while making a mental note to remember to dust the button for possible prints. It was her job to notice things like that. EMTs were standing by, waiting for Stella's cue, ready to put the body into the bag and onto the gurney. She never got used to that part.

"Talk to me." She clapped her hands together, walking through the double doors of the medical examiner's office.

"Found a wallet in her back pocket. Name's Lauren Scott. 16 days shy of her 21st birthday."

"She was just a kid," she said softly. "Cause of death?" she asked.

"One blow to the temple." He pointed to the right side of the young woman's head to reveal a rather large purple bruise.

"I didn't find a possible weapon at the crime scene, so either the suspect took it with him--"

"Or the suspect was the weapon. Looks like a fist did this. There are defense wounds on her hands. Must've been one hell of a fight."

Stella nodded. "Rape kit?" She knew the answer as soon as she saw the girl lying on the floor. But, she still wanted to ask for confirmation's sake.

Hawkes paused before he answered. "…Positive." Wasn't uncommon, but he saw more of those cases on his table than he cared to. "Sent a sample to DNA."

She nodded without a word.

"Check this out." Motioning for Stella to come closer, Hawkes took the vic's hand in his glove, holding her arm up to the overhead light. "See here," he pointed with his pinky finger. "Parallel lines carved into the skin." He ran his fingertip lightly over the scars. Stella stared intently. "My guess would be a straight-edged razor blade."

"Cutter." Stella's stomach tied into a knot, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to detach from her emotions. _This is part of the job_, she tried to remind herself. Her profession was never easy. Painfully routine, but never easy.

"Exactly," he replied. Stella nodded once again. "There's more." Sheldon put the victim's lifeless arm back at her side and pulled back the sheet to reveal additional scars on her upper thighs. "Not as precise. Some intersecting. More anger resulting in a less-controlled incision."

"Mmm." Stella winced.

"Judging by their color, I'd say these were about six to eight months old. Too healed to be recent, but not healed enough to lose some of their original pink color. Older scars sometimes tend to fade to white on people with her skin tone, depending on the depth of the cut."

"Are there any recent ones?"

"No. These are all old, so it appears that she was trying to stop."

"Good for her."

He turned on the light box a couple feet away and affixed an x-ray to it. "A couple of healed fractures in the right arm. This," he pointed to one faint line in particular as Stella leaned in close and squinted to see what he was referring to, "is the kind of break that results from twisting the limb until the bone _snaps_ in two." He demonstrated the twisting motion with his hands, and Stella had to look away. "The breaks were properly healed, so she definitely went to a doctor to set them. Maybe two years old, but that's just an estimate. Could be slightly older than that. Three, possibly."

"Any family?"

"Called a number I found in the wallet. Turned out to be the husband."

"Husband?" Stella's eyebrows narrowed. "She's barely out of her teens."

"Don't ask me."

* * *

"Hey, Bonasera. The husband's here. Told him to wait for you in interro." 

"Thanks, Danny," she said with a pat to his arm before they passed each other in the hallway.

Stella walked into the interrogation room to find a young, fairly handsome black man seated at the table, holding his head in his hands.

"Uh… Mr… Scott?"

"Bryan." He stood up and extended his hand.

She offered her hand out just as he did after switching the manila folder she held from her right to her left. "Detective Bonasera. Please, sit." _Good eye-contact_, she noted.

He did as told but didn't wait for her to speak. "What happened to her?" His eyes were pleading and bloodshot.

"It appears as though she suffered some severe head trauma and was sexually assaulted."

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he digested the words. "Can…" He wiped at his eyes with the back of his shirtsleeve. He tried again. "Can I see her?"

"We can arrange a viewing if you'd like."

"Yeah. Yeah," he nodded with closed eyes.

"When was the last time you saw your wife?" _Wife. She's just a kid._

"Last night. I work 10pm to 6 full-time at the factory, and then I work another job from 7am to 11 part-time. All I know is I got a call from that M.E. guy, I got down here as fast as I could, and the blonde guy out front told me I had to wait for you in here."

"If I call, can someone vouch for you being there?"

"Yeah, definitely." He retrieved his wallet and scribbled down two separate phone numbers on the back of a store receipt and promptly handed the scrap over to Stella.

That seemed like an act of innocence, that he was so willing to give her both numbers, but she couldn't go on that alone. She knew from experience that sometimes, guilty people tried to come off innocent at first too. She glanced at the numbers, unaffected, and put them in her pocket. "How long have the two of you been married?"

"Almost 4 months."

"And how long have you known her?"

"I've known her since grade school. I was a year ahead of her. But we didn't start dating until last summer."

Stella watched him carefully for signs of suspicion as she opened the folder and put a couple of photos onto the table. She had to treat everyone as a suspect. "Do you recognize these?" she asked, sliding them over to him.

He picked them up and it only took a second before he was overcome again. He bit his lower lip, trying to stop it from quivering. He nodded. "I finally got her to stop."

"Stop cutting?"

"She had it rough. And, uh, she used to do that before we started dating." He wouldn't take his eyes off of the pictures.

"Rough?" _Let him tell you. Don't push,_ Stella silently tried to remind herself, though sometimes her 'take no bullshit' attitude made it hard to hear that little voice. She, every now and again, forgot that it was even there.

He pursed his lips before he spoke. "We moved here from Ohio 3 months ago. They wouldn't let her leave unless she was married, and I -- I told her to pick a city, and I'd get her out of there. She always wanted to live in New York, so the JP back home married us, and I scraped up enough cash to get us an apartment out in BK. I borrowed from every single relative I've got, called in every favor I ever had coming to me, I -- I'm working two jobs. I know it's not much, but I'm trying… I _was_ trying," he added, applying a past tense to his statement with a heavy sigh. "I did what I had to to keep her safe." He paused briefly and looked up at Stella. "Guess I didn't do enough, huh?"

He was full on crying now, shielding his eyes with his left hand. She noticed light reflect off of the gold band he wore. She was pretty good at reading people and could sense that he was not the culprit here. But she needed definite proof. That's the way it worked, no exceptions. She slowly pulled the pictures back across the table from his grasp and returned them to the folder. Stella didn't see too many grown men cry. The occurrence left her blank on what to do. "Don't say that," she told him. "You did what you could."

"No, it wasn't enough." She watched him shake his head repeatedly and wipe his eyes again. "I'm sorry," he said, embarrassed that he was crying.

"It's all right. You said… 'Keep her safe.' Was someone hurting her at home?"

"No."

"Then who were you protecting her from?"

"Her ex. I was trying to get her away from him. I figured if we left, she wouldn't have to see him. Small town, you know?"

"We took some x-rays, and there is evidence of healed fractures in her arm. Did she tell you anything about those?"

"Yeah. He did that. The day after she turned 18, she said. Broke her arm in two different places."

_2 fractures._ _2 years give or take. Matches Hawkes' timeline._ "Do you think he's the one who did this?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I wouldn't put it past him."

"I'm gonna need that name," she said, searching her pockets for a pen in her Dolce & Gabbana jacket. (No doubt about it, Stella Bonasera made crime scene investigation look good.)

* * *

Stella exited into the hallway and found Mac in the room behind the one-way mirror. Apparently, he'd been watching her talk to the victim's husband. 

"Hey. What're you doing in here? Checking up on me?" she joked before taking note of his somber mood.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching Bryan through the mirror. "No." He sighed heavily. "Where are you going?"

"Gotta talk to Hawkes about a viewing for this guy."

"Let me do that," Mac insisted.

"Mac, I got it." She looked at her partner, his eyes still fixated on the victim's husband in the next room. Stella looked in on him as well. Bryan was wiping his eyes again, and Stella could see that the disconnected stage, as she called it, was beginning to set in with him. He was no longer crying, just sitting in the chair, staring at the table, barely even blinking. Like it was too much for him to process. He knew he had lost his wife, but the how's and why's and who's still unanswered and sheer disbelief often left survivors in a daze.

Stella had seen that with Mac.

* * *

A/N: I apologize if a couple of the initials I used in here aren't correct. I'm from TX, so the NY things, I'm just doing the best I can.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry it took so long for this, but it's finally done._

* * *

"What do you think happened?" he asked her.

"I don't know. My guess is the ex was mad that she'd moved on."

"She didn't even have a chance to move on," he said.

"Do… you want in on this case?"

"No. No." He shook his head side to side. "It's yours. I'm not gonna take it out from under you."

"You can do anything you want, Mac. I work for _you_, remember?" she joked, and heard nothing in the form of laughter in response. She didn't really want to hand over the case. But she knew that he had connected with Bryan on a level that she would never understand.

"I know."

She sighed light-heartedly and walked toward the door. "Come on, Mac," and she motioned to follow her, which he did, his hands still in his pockets. Once in the hallway, she pulled her cell from the clip on her belt and scrolled through her phone book.

"It's ringing." She handed it to him.

"Hello?"

Mac recognized the voice. "Sheldon." He looked at Stella and saw her smirking. "Yeah, we're going to need to set up a viewing for Lauren Scott."

"_Sure thing. How about 1 o'clock?"_

"That'll be fine. We'll see you there. Thanks, Sheldon."

"_No problem."_

He closed the phone and handed it back to his partner as they were walking. She then called the numbers Bryan had given her, and both bosses verified that he had, in fact, been at work the entire time. Timesheets were available if she should need them.

* * *

"Anything?" Stella asked when she walked into the lab. Aiden was sitting at a table with the vic's jeans in front of her. A container of dusting powder was open on the tabletop.

"There is a definite print on the button, matches one found on the door handle and the facing, but nothing came up in AFIS."

"So he hasn't been arrested?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"How does someone like that not get caught?"

Aiden shrugged her shoulders in response.

"All right." Frustration accompanied a sigh. "Call my cell if you find something."

"Sure."

"Hey, Aiden?"

"Yeah?"

"Call the hospital there and see if they can fax over her medical records. Her name would've been 'Woods.'"

Aiden nodded.

* * *

The lift was turned on. Stella heard the click and counted the 28 seconds it took for the victim to reach the viewing window. Always 28 seconds. She wondered how many thoughts could run through a person's mind in 28 seconds, especially those trying to I.D. a victim that the cops were unsuccessful in trying to do. How many prayers could be prayed? How many hopes could be held that it wouldn't be their son or daughter? That it would be someone other than their wife or husband? She didn't really know. She didn't have any family to identify.

The curtain was pulled back slowly. Lauren lay there motionless on the table with a white sheet draped over her. Fluorescent overhead lights illuminated the body.

Stella clasped her hands together in front of her. Mac did the same. Instinct would tell a person to look at the ground in a moment like this as not to intrude on such a private moment, but neither could tear themselves away from watching Bryan's reaction.

He leaned his forearm on the window and rested his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered through the glass. He observed the bruise and what he could see of her arms. The detectives heard him start to cry. The scars covering her were more noticeable under the lights. Mac hadn't seen them, and when he did, he felt a twinge of sadness for the little girl on the other side of the partition.

* * *

"Hey Stel. Here are those medical records."

"Thanks, Aiden." She walked across the room to the other side of Mac's desk without looking away from the stack of paper in her hands. "Broken arm. Sprained wrist. Five stitches. One… miscarriage. My God, what did he do?"

"Sounds a lot more complicated than you thought, doesn't it?" Mac asks.

"Tell me about it."

"Well, she was 18 at the time -- with probably a million excuses as to how those injuries happened."

"Speaking of which: 'Fell down stairs.' 'Fell in shower.' 'Automobile accident.' It goes on and on."

"She had no legal obligation to report him."

"Maybe she couldn't," Stella suggested.

"You think he scared her?"

"I think he did a lot more than that."

Mac glanced up at the clock on the wall. Past quitting time. And he'd never been one to leave on a schedule, but today he sure felt like it was warranted. "What do you say we pick up where we left off tomorrow? You look exhausted."

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "I am."

"So go home and get some rest. It'll still be here tomorrow."

"Wait a minute," she said with a far-off look. "Now, _why_ does that sound so familiar?" Cue the signature smirk.

He smiled with a sigh. "You need a ride?"

"Nah. I'll just catch a cab or something."

"Don't waste your money. You're on my way."

"Okay," she smiled. "I gotta stop by my desk, go back to the locker room, and I'll meet you in the garage in, say, 15 minutes?"

* * *

Before he turned out onto the street, he paused with his foot on the brake. "Feel like getting a drink?"

She looked up from buckling her seat belt and brushed the curls away from her face. "Did I miss a memo or something?"

"What memo?"

"The one that said we were swapping personalities today."

"You want me to shut up, I'll shut up," he said with mock offense.

"No, it's nice," she smiled. "Just… different." Her shoulders shrugged.

"Different, how?"

"Different, as in, old Mac Taylor different."

"Oh. That 'old Mac Taylor' thing again."

She faced forward but watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was processing what she said, remembering the last time she'd said it in the locker room after Officer Velasquez's service. Mac knew he'd changed a lot since Claire's passing, but he didn't know how much Stella had missed him. Sure, she saw him every day at work, even after work sometimes. They spent more time together now than before, but it just wasn't the same. They were usually working late because she couldn't get him to go home. He laughed a lot less now. It was harder to make him smile. The only constant in her life had been Mac for the last 8 years, something she hadn't taken for granted. But she didn't know how to fix him. There was no "How-To Put A Best Friend Back Together After The Loss Of A Spouse" manual to reference. She couldn't even fix herself.

* * *

"I don't know how I'm going to get any sleep. I still have to find a way to track this guy down before he skips town."

The waiter brought their order to the booth. They paused their conversation until the man had walked far enough away.

Mac grabbed the handle of his cup and slid it towards him. "Don't you want to talk about something else?"

"Like what?"

The noise in the bar was a little loud. Mac's attention darted for a moment between the crowd gathered around the TV in the corner and Stella seated opposite him. "I don't know. Sports." He gestured to the screen across the room, knowing that Stella didn't care for sports. "Weather?"

She thought silently for a minute with a glance out the window. "You think he's working in the city now?"

"You can't do it, can you?" he laughed.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, only to turn serious a moment later. "I just can't stop thinking about it." The drink in front of her captured her reflection. "Maybe it's best that she miscarried."

There was no way he was going to get her to change the subject. "Why?"

"So she wouldn't have to raise a baby in all of that." She wondered for a brief moment of her own mother's intentions and promptly brushed all thought of that aside with a sip from her glass. Now was not the time.

"True."

Mac recognized the look on his partner's face as she sat silent across from him. He'd seen it many times and knew that she was thinking about more than the case at hand. No words were needed. Mac knew that she didn't like to talk about something she couldn't change. A tragedy if there ever was one. He fought for his country in Beirut, fought for a freedom he believed in, and saved more lives than he took. But he couldn't save her.

* * *

She walked into the building still tired from a rather sleepless night. She finally drifted off at about 3:30 AM after going over Lauren's medical records time and time again, her notes she'd taken after talking with Bryan, a printout of Hawkes' list of findings, only to have the alarm go off at 5. A file folder was stuck to her face when she woke up.

"Door Number 1, Door Number 2, or Door Number 3?" Flack asked.

She was confused. "What?" She didn't have time for this. There was a criminal out there, slipping further and further away from her.

"Okay, so there isn't more than one door, but humor me anyway."

She conceded. "Door Number 1?"

"Great choice." Flack smiled to himself. "Let's tell the little lady what she's won."

Her eyes rolled as the host/detective led her around the corner and pointed to a holding cell on the opposite side of the room. "Is that who I think it is?"

Returning to his normal demeanor, Flack confirmed, "One Christopher Warren. He just got picked up trying to buy drugs off an undercover officer."

Her mouth hung agape for a moment and turned into a somewhat devious smile. "You're kidding." Could it really be this easy? Could this really be the guy? Nothing in her entire life had ever been handed to her. "He got an early start, didn't he?"

"Seriously," Flack agreed.

"Has he been processed yet?"

"I was savin' that for you."

"Oh, Flack, you shouldn't have," she joked.

"Thanks for playing 'Find the Criminal,' and enjoy your brand new, top of the line murder suspect."

Stella laughed and playfully shoved Flack out of the way so she could get to work. The boy was so ridiculous sometimes. But she enjoyed his company all the same.

* * *

"We got him, Mac," she announced, just barely opening the glass door of his office before she spoke.

"Warren?" He stood up from his desk.

Stella nodded with enthusiasm. Curls danced on her shoulders. "Are you coming?"

"You go. I'll watch."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's your case, Stella. Go."

* * *

The suspect was seated at the interrogation table when she walked in the door. A uniformed officer stood by the door, and Flack was just outside in case she needed him. And Mac was on the other side of the mirror. Stella made herself comfortable in the chair across from him.

"Figure you'd pick up a little something before you left town, Chris?"

"Yeah, so?"

"When was the last time you saw Lauren Scott?"

"Who?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Don't bullshit with me," she sighed. "Lauren Scott. Your ex-girlfriend?"

"Don't know a 'Lauren _Scott._'" He emphasized the last name.

From the file folder, she pulled out an 8x10 photo of the vic on Hawkes' table. Held it up in his face. "Maiden name: Lauren _Woods_."

"Oh. _That_ Lauren. Must've slipped my mind. _That_ Lauren left me back in Ohio a long time ago."

"So what are you doing here?"

"I've always wanted to come to the big city. See what the fuss was all about."

"See what the fuss over her new husband was all about…" she insinuated.

"Heh. Are New Yorkers always this delusional, lady?" he quipped.

"Only to male chauvinistic abusers like yourself," she shot back. He scoffed. Stella knew how to hold her own. "How'd she lose the baby in 2003?"

"We got in a car accident."

"Sure you did." He was good. Remembered which excuse went with which injury. Of course, he probably made up the excuse for her, Stella thought. She'd already checked his driving record after she read of the "accident" in Lauren's file. Spotless. "We know you were in her apartment yesterday."

"You don't know that."

"Well, we have your prints on the door handle, and even one on the button of her pants. Pretty hard for your prints to get there if you weren't inside with her. And you know what else we've got? A DNA match to you from a sexual assault kit. So don't even try to play me. How did you find out where she was?"

"She called me."

"_She_ called _you…_ Why?" Stella almost had him right where she wanted him.

"Said she wanted me to take her home."

"What kind of sense does that make?"

"Perfect sense."

"Somehow, I doubt that." She pulled a piece of paper from the file. "Can you tell me why this was in the bag you had with you?" She held it up to him long enough for him to recognize what she'd photocopied onto the sheet. Stella watched for that moment in his eyes when it registered. "It's a letter addressed to Lauren's _mother_. With Lauren's return address on it. It's not nice to read other people's mail. Not to mention, it's a crime. You stole this from her parents' mailbox and tracked her down using that return address."

"I wanted her back." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Now _why_ she would want to go back to someone who caused her to lose a baby _and_ had broken her arm _twice_?"

"I told you I didn't make her lose the baby. And I didn't break her arm. She fell. Where are you getting this shit?"

"Oh, yes you did. We've got X-rays and medical records. You broke it once. And right after that, we know that you broke it again, because see, the second wasn't the kind of break someone gets by 'falling down a flight of stairs' or bumping into something. No. We know you twisted her arm so hard until the bone snapped. But what I _don't_ know is how she let you get away with it. What? Did you intimidate her into not pressing charges? Sweet-talk her into forgiving you? _'I'll never do it again, baby,'_" she mocked. "Something like that?" Stella watched his face redden in color with every word she spoke. His lips tightened, and she continued, "But I'll give that one to you. You didn't break her arm again. No. You moved on to other things. Knocking her around. Raping her. And finally giving her one last blow to the head. If you couldn't have her, you didn't want anyone else to either."

"She left me for a black guy!" he exploded.

The pivotal moment she was waiting for. The moment in every case she _lives_ for.

"She _left_ you because you were _beating_ her!" Her voice rose as well, echoing slightly in the small box of a room. "She cut herself with a razor blade because of you! His skin color had nothing to do with it. And I'd appreciate it if you left your racist comments some place else."

He was fuming but didn't move from his chair. The officer standing by made sure of that.

Stella stood up from the table with the file closed in her hand, looked him in the eye and said, "He really loved her -- something you _clearly_ know nothing about."

Flack came in from outside where the officer presented him a pair of cuffs. The dark-haired detective read him his rights and the officer took him into custody.

* * *

"Nice work," she heard him say as she watched Christopher being hauled down the corridor.

Turning around to find Mac standing behind her, she only nodded once. "Thanks for your help."

"You did it. Not me."

"I just got lucky, that's all."

"Maybe now you can get some rest," he said, looking at the dark circles under her eyes that her make-up couldn't cover.

"Maybe," Stella smiled. "And you still won't."

His shoulders shrugged, and Stella gave him a pat on the cheek before she walked away.

* * *

"What do you think you're gonna do?" she asked.

"I think… it's time to go back to Ohio. I know she loved it here, but it's just not home, you know? Everything's moving so fast. I can't keep up. I was trying to make it work for her. But…" he sighed.

"I know." Stella offered the young man a smile. He didn't need to finish his sentence. She understood.

"Thank you for everything."

"You're welcome."

The End.


End file.
